Margaritaville
by Solita
Summary: Stone Cold Steve Austin looked to the sky... and he smiled. (one - shot; first WWE fic since I quit nearly two years ago)


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Stone Cold Steve Austin looked to the sky, and he smiled. He never smiled like this before. He would never get the chance to again.   
  
His sky was littered with stars, the bright faces of his fans. Everyone of them were standing, being accounted for, watching as the man that helped bring wrestling to a new level was leaving everything behind him.  
  
It was a beautiful sight. His homeland was the ring, covered in white, dressed in red, stained with blood. His mark was left there by the two cans of the nectar he drank. His insignia of chaos, intelligence, and valor was left behind, and it was all represented by those two cans.  
  
The cans represented two things evident in his life: his fans and his life. They were being left behind. Softness and a blur covered his vision, yet Steve Austin shook his head and dismissed the angst within. He was too strong, and too stubborn, to end up wallowing in pity and despair. He still had his family. Or what was left of it.  
  
The sound of nightfall was the sound of his name, echoing off steel and concrete. The empty parking lot was filled with the items of his home, and he knew he would have to leave it all behind. The open road was his runway, and the darkness ahead was the curtains he had to pull aside in order to move on with life.  
  
He smiled. Steve Austin smiled. No one was around to see him smile, and that fact alone made him feel safe.  
  
It was a chilly night in Texas. He could see the country in front of him, but all that was registering in his mind was the stands filled with thousands of fans, standing and watching him leave with brims of tears in their eyes.  
  
A can of beer was in his hands, still filled and cold. Droplets of condensation decorated it, and some soaked into his freezing skin. He was numb all over. He didn't know what he was doing now, or where he was going. Steve Austin never drank his beer for a whole hour.  
  
The sound of crickets chirping reminded Steve of hunting. He could go for a home-cooked meal of duck or a deer. Anything at all. Something that he had killed with his gun. He would be at home, with his girls, and they would be discussing about how their day had been and what was going on with their lives.  
  
Steve Austin would be able to do that now. He could catch up with all the lost, forgotten time he had with his girls. The smile never wavered. It never curled, dropped, or brightened. It was only a smile for an old, worm man.  
  
He wasn't thinking about how Eric had won, or the condition of his friend Shawn Michaels. He didn't care about how he had congradulated his group and the reactions they gave him. He didn't care about how he actually shook hands with Vince and say goodbye to him as well. He didn't even remember the personal goodbyes all the guys in the back gave to him.  
  
He didn't remember the goodbyes from the fans as they past his truck. He didn't remember giving most of them autographs and talking with some of them one-on-one. He didn't remember giving hugs (a sight Austin rarely did) to some of the guys he was on the road with, and some he didn't even particularly liked.  
  
It was all over for him. He was old. He couldn't remember anything. Steve Austin would remember later on, when he had the time to contemplate and reminiss about the past. He would have a lot of time to think now.  
  
He sat upwards on the hood of his truck, with his back to the glass window, and he stared at the sky. It was cloudless, and the moon was nowhere in sight. The stars illuminated everything, and the cold weather agreed with his mood. The buildings in Dallas were dimly lit, and didn't interfere with his stargazing.  
  
Steve Austin couldn't stargaze, though. He was too busy looking at the fans, as they all watched them, with the tears shinning like stars. That's all he saw. He smiled.  
  
He nearly cracked in front of everyone. The emotions he felt after the final bell was rung and he knew he lost absolutely everything he lived and breathed for emerged onto the surface of his face, and vaguely broke through his voice. He never broke his character. He would never cry.  
  
Steve Austin wished it could rain. The rain could hide his tears, and follow his despair and misery within. He struggled within, finding something to feel and grasp onto it firmly. Everything was askew and surreal. Nothing was compact and together. He just couldn't hold onto one thing anymore. They all kept moving.  
  
He felt like the planet he stood and lived on. It always circled around one certain object in space, and that certain object in space circled around another object, and that object kept moving as well. Nothing was fixed and everything moved. Everything... changed.  
  
_That's right_, he thought in realization, disregarding the fact that it torn away his very soul and sanity. _Everything... changed._  
  
He finally admitted that things changed, and he was apart of that change. He didn't want things to change. It was absurd. He could have prevented that change. He could have done _something_...  
  
Steve Austin had the urge to throw the bottle of beer onto the ground, throw himself into the truck, and drive down the road in a frenzy. He could do that. He had a choice, something he didn't have beforehand.  
  
He closed his eyes, and began to laugh to himself. It felt good-- _great_ to laugh. He hissed through his teeth, and the numbness that surrounded his body began to tingle. Maybe he would be able to feel something soon enough. He made the choice.   
  
Raising his left hand, he felt the gold chain around his neck. He slightly felt the softness on the top of the chain, and the ruff, hard edges of its sides. He opened his ice blue eyes again, and looked to the sky. He played with the chain.  
  
He saw the fans again, each one of their eyes brimmed with tears. In those stands, at the top, he saw a man he recognized easily. Steve Austin smiled at his friend, and he smiled back.  
  
"Hey Brian," Steve whispered, a tone he used similarly when he began his speech in the ring. Raspy and tired, his eyes dropped, and he wished he could stop having this unnamed feeling.  
  
His friend, Brian Pillman, kept smiling, and it grew into a grin. He stared right into Steve's eyes, but never said a word. He slowly rose a hand, and waved it slightly. His eyes were brimmed with tears.  
  
Steve blinked, and he was gone. He wasn't disappointed, nor depressed. He felt reassured, and blessed instead. Quietly, he said a prayer for his friend, and let go of his chain that was in rememberance of the only person he could actually trust.  
  
Trust. It was a term he hated. He didn't believe in trusting anybody. It would bring his downfall. That's what he always believed. The irony was completely evident. However, he still smiled.  
  
He trusted five men, and they couldn't save his job. He thanked them, and wished them well. Steve couldn't hold a grudge against them. They were only human, and the odds were against him the entire time.  
  
A song entered his head, and he welcomed the soothing tune. It warmed his soul, but not his body. Steve Austin hummed the song, and whispered the chorus line out loud.  
  
"_Wasting away again in Margaritaville_," he sang, his eyes wanting to close. His body desired to stay in this comfortable position, safe underneath the stars, but he knew it was a fantasy. It was a lost, ideal dream.  
  
"_Searching for my lost shaker and salt_," Steve sang in a whisper, his voice barely audible. It's raspy tone echoed off the silent walls of the night. Softness grew in his eyes, but he refused the despair to eat him alive.  
  
"_Some people claim that there is a woman to blame that I know_," he sang, his body becoming tired and his soul searching for some sort of cure to this sickness he was feeling within. He wanted all of this unnamed feelings to go away.  
  
"_It's nobody's fault_," a different voice sang this time around. Steve Austin didn't have a need to become alarmed or frightened. He stayed in his position like an immortal statue. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the person.  
  
Steve kept smiling, and sighed contently. "How's that head of yours?"  
  
The person shrugged and leaned against the side of Steve's truck. "It's fine."  
  
Chuckling, Steve moved his head back and forth in disbelieve and amusement. "Liar."  
  
The other person chuckled as well, and he sighed deeply after his guffaw. He was obviously in contemplation and guilt. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Sorry isn't going to get you anywhere, Shawn," Steve stated nonchalantly, the unnamed feeling emerging in his torn voice.  
  
Shawn Michaels sighed harder this time, and moved closer to the hood of the truck. Steve still looked up to the sky, yet with his perphrial vision, he could see Shawn out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Wearing his regular outside attire, Shawn looked ready to go home to the nearest hotel and call up his wife and son. His head was bandaged in white, possibly stitched up in more than one place. Guilt and concern were written on his face, but Steve didn't need any of it.  
  
Shawn opened his mouth again, and nothing came out. Steve released a curt, sour laugh with a smirk. His eyes were completely fixated on the stars, on his fans.  
  
"Go home, Shawn," Steve gently whispered, a ping of misery etched onto his voice. He growled internally in his mind. He was becoming weak and miserable. He could only do that in the rain.  
  
Shawn shook his head. "I have to talk to you."  
  
Steve growled in annoyance. "Go home and call your wife and son," Steve commanded in a harsh tone, though there was no malice or callousness in it. His eyes were soft. "They're probably worried sick about you."  
  
"Like your daughters are about you," Shawn stated, his eyes determined and fixated on the goal he had to achieve. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't have this moment again with Steve. He had to talk to him one last time.  
  
A pause emerged, and Steve finally moved his sights from above to the person next to him. Shawn stepped back slightly, and his eyes widened. He was completely taken back by the sight he saw in those twin pairs of Texas blue eyes. He could have sworn that for a second that the man sitting on the truck wasn't Steve Austin but another man. A man that lost everything.  
  
He hated his mind. The irony was very evident. Shawn looked at Steve, squarely in the eyes. He was man enough to stand in front of this person, probably the most intimidating being Shawn had ever met since the Undertaker or other legends he faced in his time.  
  
Steve was the first to speak. His voice carried a harsher tone to it, but the raspy taste of misery was there. "What do you want to say to me?"  
  
Shawn expected Steve to say something that was direct and to the point. He looked away, and licked his lips, trying to find the right words to fit the thoughts and feelings running around in his head.  
  
"Steve," he began, while turning his head around and looking directly in Steve's heartbroken eyes, "I'm going to miss you."  
  
Before Steve could interrupt, Shawn continued. "Everyone is going to miss you. It _isn't_ going to be the same, and there won't be another one like you in along time." He paused and a smile emerged on his face. "Probably never."  
  
Closing his eyes, Shawn sighed, and turned his attention to the stars that Steve was previously so engaged at looking at. "Your legend is like a star, Steve Austin. You've faded away, but there is a little bit of you imprinted in the minds of everyone."  
  
He looked back at Steve with a grin that was verging on slyness. "Did you even know that _Vince_ started to tear up after you left the building?"  
  
Steve didn't respond verbally. He lost the smile somewhere while Shawn was talking. He only shook his head in denial.  
  
Shawn laughed heartily. "You made the Devil cry," Shawn stated, in total disbelief. However, deep in his heart, Shawn knew that Steve Austin would be able to pull off the impossible. Steve was that kind of person.  
  
Shawn's eyes softened and he look at Steve with honor, and awe, and the most respect that he could offer to any living being alive or dead. "You affected the entire world, Steve. And that's why they are crying."  
  
A silence broke between the two, carrying its own unique style. Steve kept on looking into Shawn's eyes, and Shawn did the same. Neither moved their focus from one another.  
  
Steve's eyes narrowed, contemplating some fact that Shawn didn't know. Shawn awaited patiently in the cold Texas weather. It was around two in the morning, but he wasn't sure about that fact anymore.  
  
Finally, Steve regained his smile; however, it vaguely looked like a smirk. "I made Vince cry?"  
  
Shawn nodded his head. "I don't know what you did, Steve, but he cried the minute you left the building."  
  
Steve rose his eyebrows and turns his attention to the sky again. His smirk grew into a grin of disbelief. He used his free and moved it across his bald head. "Imagine that," he said, the only words he could muster.  
  
Shawn smirked. "I know. Weird, isn't it?"  
  
Steve nodded his head in approval. He sighed, and put his hand into his lap. He moved his gaze from the stars to the open road ahead of him. "Where to go?" he asked himself out loud to no one in particular. "What to do?"  
  
"It's all up to you now, Steve," Shawn said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's your choice. You make it."  
  
Steve smiled brighter than ever for some odd reason, throwing Shawn off completely. The Rattlesnake was smiling like a little kid. Now _that_ was a sight you didn't see everyday.  
  
Before Shawn knew it, Steve handed him a beer can that he thought popped out of nowhere. However, he remembered that it was the same beer can that was in Austin's hand the entire time. Not even once he tried to drink it.   
  
It was still filled to the brim, never touched. He looked at the hand that was Austin's, and notice it looked peculiarly numb. He didn't drink that beer probably the entire night. That fact alone made Shawn's knees feel weak and his head swimming.  
  
Shawn looked up, and saw Steve's smile. He took the beverage from Austin. "Thanks," he said with a disbelieved, shocked tone in his voice.  
  
Steve shrugged and, for what seemed to be like days since he moved, slowly moved himself off of the truck's hood and onto the ground below. His body moved awkwardly, for it was becoming used to moving around again.  
  
Two hands help him gain back his strength, helping him move to the truck's door. Steve looked around, and saw Shawn helping him. He was shocked, to the say the least.   
  
Shawn looked at him, and smiled. He opened the door and helped Steve get into the truck. No words were said between the two. None were needed.  
  
Steve Austin sat up in the drivers seat, and Shawn closed the door for him. He looked down, and saw that the can of beer was still in the Heartbreak Kid's hand. Steve regained his smile, though it was weary and tired now.  
  
"You didn't need to do that," he stated with ease.  
  
Shawn shrugged while smiling smugly. "My way of saying thank you. For what happened in the ring."  
  
Steve looked at Shawn, and noticed his eyes beginning to brim with tears. He had seen the fans beginning to do that when he walked out of the arena. It was as if they would never see him again.  
  
The Rattlesnake sighed, and he moved his attention forward to the open parking lot. "No need for tears, Shawn."  
  
Shawn blinked, the small droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. He didn't say a word. He only listened in, and paid attention to Steve Austin like a small child does to his or her parent.  
  
His worn, tired smile of a weary man graced and stayed on his features for a long time. His eyes wandered to the road, like the runway in the arena, and on the other side would be his family, and his daughters, waiting for him.  
  
"I'm not going to be gone forever," Steve Austin explained, as he moved slowly and turned the key that was already in the ignition. He started the truck, and turned his head around to meet Shawn's eyes one final time.   
  
"I'll come back," he stated, losing his smile quickly. Shawn knew it was a vow that Steve would keep. Steve Austin wouldn't let one thing like Eric Bischoff to keep him away from his dreams and his life as a wrestler.  
  
Steve smirked and took the car out of park and into drive. "This is just a _see you later_. Not a _goodbye_."  
  
Shawn nodded his head, registering and remembering his mind this night, this moment, and the words Steve Austin told him. "See you later then," he whispered, raising his hand with the beer to the man that defined wrestling and a man he respected.  
  
Steve smiled genuinely, a smile he only saved for those he cared for -- his daughters, his family, and his extremely close friends. "See you later."  
  
He hit the gas, and in his typical Austin subtlety, he ran out onto the open road. The windows were rolled down, despite the cold weather, and he turned up the music to Jimmy Buffet, Black Label Society, and Rolling Stones. He sped all the way home, and sang aloud to a few songs he knew. It was the perfect way to distract himself from other idle thoughts.  
  
Shawn Michaels stayed in the parking lot, watching as the black truck flew down the empty street. He drank the entire beer can until there was nothing left. There wasn't a drop in the can left. Crushing the can easily with his hand, he threw it to the ground.   
  
He walked towards his car, where his wife and son were waiting eagerly for his phone call. The open road was waiting for him, to take him to his next job and the job after that and the job after that. He had a job to do.  
  
He envied Steve Austin. He could go home to his girls now. He could spend time with them. Shawn missed his wife and his son. However, he knew that Steve missed wrestling. He loved and lived for it. He loved and lived for his children, too.  
  
Steve was going home. So was Shawn.   
  
Shawn looked to the sky, just as Austin did, and noticed the stars glowing brightly. He smiled, and moved towards his car. He would have to call Steve tomorrow and strike up a chat with him again. It's what friends do.  
  
  
  
  
  
A weary hand picked up a black phone. He put the contraption to his ear, and dialed in a few numbers.   
  
His blue eyes looked to the left of him. His second daughter was lying on his shoulder, covering in a blue blanket. The man smiled, a sight his family was used to, and kissing her forehead.  
  
To the right of him was his other daughter, beautiful and growing up faster than he could imagine. He used his free hand to touch her face and brush away a few strands of her hair. His smile grew vaguely, and he kissed her cheek.  
  
None of his girls stirred. They bundled up closer to him, a sense of security evident with the two. They were beyond happiness that their father was home, even though it was at a price. He had already spoke with them earlier, and they understood completely.  
  
Now was the time to make new memories, and live out his life as a father to his two girls. It was about time and he was long overdue to take his girls on a vacation.  
  
The ringing stopped, and he heard a familiar, tired voice he could trust over the phone line. "Hello?"  
  
Stone Cold Steve Austin smiled, and he began a chat with the only other friend he could trust, besides Brian Pillman, Mark Calloway, Dwayne Johnson, and Shawn Michaels now.  
  
"Hey, Jack."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
